


Unbound

by NyxEternal



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Julian is the most submissive, Light BDSM, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEternal/pseuds/NyxEternal
Summary: She was beautiful, this strange magician. How was Julian to know she'd be the key to changing, and saving his life? How was Julian to know they'd met before?The Arcana, through Julian's eyes.





	1. Salty Bitters

**Author's Note:**

> yo i'm trash

“Just stepping out for some air,” I say, flashing an easy smile as I step backward out of The Rowdy Raven. Just a few moments to compose myself, that’s all I need.

I hear a crash and immediately step over to investigate the pair of legs kicking out of a barrel.

“Hello. That was quite a tumble, are you alright?” I ask, then pause. That face is familiar. Painfully familiar. I rear back. “Shopkeep? What are you doing here?”

She starts to say something, but I interject, not quite wanting to relinquish control of the situation. Not yet. I give her a teasing grin.

“Little early in the evening to be stumbling around alleys, isn’t it?” I ask. She glares at me and I laugh. “I’m joking. It’s never too early. Come on, upsy-daisy.”

I grab both her wrists and effortlessly pull her out of the barrel. She is not so graceful; she stumbles into my chest, her bag dropping everything she has on her. I grab her arms so she doesn’t fall and take a step back, ignoring the sudden warmth in my face.

She looks up at me and meets my eye and for a moment, something seems… I feel the air leave my lungs and it’s as if I’ve forgotten to breathe. How did I not notice how lovely she was in the shop?

I quickly pat her arms and force a friendly smile as I release her.

“Sooo you, ah, last I heard you… You were bound for the palace,” I say. “Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

She looks around after dusting herself off, and it’s almost cute. Surprise and confusion are written on her face, then she briefly crinkles her nose as she looks at the sign. She mouths the words and I briefly cover my mouth with my hand, catching myself thinking how cute she is.

I must distract myself.

I kneel to start gathering her things, pausing as I pick a scroll. “Oh? What’s this?”

I unravel the scroll, too curious to stop myself. Before I can get it undone, I hear her say, “You tell me.”

“Pardon?” I ask, looking back at her. She has her arms crossed and is giving me a look that I immediately want to see more of, to push the limits and see how much I can push her buttons.

“It’s your letter.” She sounds so accusatory.

I frown and look back at the page. After scanning it for only a moment, the blood drains from my face. She isn’t joking. She isn’t lying. She isn’t _crazy._ I roll it back up and glance at her before handing it back.

“So it is.” That’s unsettling. “Where did you find that?”

“Your desk,” she tells me. When I ask, she replies very succinctly. “In the library.”

I stare at her.

“…At the palace.”

I glance to the side and wince. I haven’t thought of that time in a while. In truth, I don’t want to.

“Oh yes, my desk. In the library, at the palace.” I sigh and swallow, hard. “Little window right above it.”

I hope she doesn’t ask; doesn’t notice the change in my tone or the look on my face.

A bottle crashes behind us, followed by an angry shout. Above us, the raven squawks and I find myself internally grateful for the distraction. I run my hand over my face as if I’m wiping away the painful memories, and put my hand on my hip.

“Well, I am parched. Think I’ll head back in,” I say, considering The Raven. “Are you thirsty? You’re welcome to join me. _If_ you’d like to.”

I glance at her and she regards me with a coy smile. My heart throbs in my throat. She has an _effect_ on me that I don’t know how to process. It’s painfully familiar, but so uniquely _her_ , I could drown in it.

“You know,” I say, giving her an erstwhile smile. “I still owe you for the reading. My treat?”

“Well,” she says, tossing her thick, brown ponytail back over her shoulder. “I _am_ pretty thirsty, Doctor.”

I almost falter, but I do grin, wide, at her acceptance of my offer.

“Oh, fantastic,” I say as I climb the steps. I beckon her to follow me. “Please, allow me.”           

I open the door for her and she ducks under my arm to step inside. She looks so small, but inside The Rowdy Raven, she is a focal point. Her red dress and dark lips draw so many eyes to her.

Including mine, if I’m to be honest.

The barkeep salutes me and I grin. I push someone’s wooden leg aside, just to avoid tripping over it. There is no place, I think, I’ve felt more at ease in Vesuvia.

I guide her to a booth, just avoiding the raven—pesky bird. We’re in the back, secluded. Alone. It’s almost intimate, but she doesn’t seem like a crowd person.

“So what can I get you to drink?” I ask. I watch as she looks over at the bar, only now noticing the rose tucked into her ponytail. Red, like her dress, full and open.

Oh, little shopkeep, I want to get to know you better. Were it that fate wasn’t so unkind. Tonight will be the last time I see you, I’m sure.

“You know,” I say, noticing her unease. “How about I take care of it you make yourself comfortable? I’ll be right back.”

I breeze past her up to the bar, where the barkeep tends to another patron at the moment. I still a glance back at the shopkeep. She just stands out; refined, but not, vibrant, but subdued.

“So what’s the story?” the barkeep asks me. I look back at him and flash an easy smile.

“Just entertaining for the evening,” I say. “A bit unexpected, but she just fell into my arms.”

“Uh-huh,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m supposed to buy that.”

“Of course you are!” I say, feigning hurt. “It’s the truth!”

“A pretty thing like her?” he asks, smirking at me. “What’d she want with a one-eyed beast like you?”

“The same thing they all do,” I shoot back with a wicked grin. A moment passes between us and we both burst into laughter.

“You’re a right mess, doc,” he says. “What’ll it be?”

“My usual and,” I glance back at the pretty shopkeep. “She looks like she couldn’t handle it. Something fruity, perhaps?”

“I’ll get her the first thing I ever made you,” he teases. I grin and wait patiently for the drinks.

I meander back with our drinks and sets hers in front of her.

“There you are.” I take a long gulp of mine as I sit down. She peers at the drink, almost skeptical. I start to joke about it not being poison when I find her taking the drink from my hand and putting hers in place of it.

She gulps mine down, staring me down with those beautiful, intense brown eyes. My heart throbs in my throat and a heat settles in my belly. She was beautiful before I saw any glimpse of her personality, but now…

She slams down the stein and I bring her drink to my lips to hide my grin. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her, in any form. Anything she is willing to let me have, I’ll be grateful for. Her time, her words, _her_. I’ll take what I can get.

“Very smart. Never trust a free drink. But, oh… If I was trying to poison you?” I asked, scowling. “I would have just ordered the seafood. Anything caught in that river should be given an apology and tossed back.”

She giggles and I can feel my heart flutter. It’s such a pretty, delicate sound. It almost doesn’t fit her stern posture. For someone closely tied to Asra, she is… Strict.

“You know,” I say, leaning forward and briefly reach to take her hands. She doesn’t pull back and instead glances at where our fingers meet. “I never did get your name.”

“Celia,” she tells me. “Celia Morgatti.”

I pause. This seems… Familiar? I’ve done this before. No, impossible. I’d remember if I met a woman as intriguing as her.

“Ahh, Celia… Now _that_ is a name! Such presence, such strength,” I say, giving her a wide grin. “Please, Celia, call me Julian.”

I hold my hand out and she gives it a firm shake. I can’t help but admire her. Beauty, wit, strength. Is there a single fault in this woman?

“So, Celia, I have to ask,” I say. “How _did_ you end up in that alley?”


	2. Ilya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting the mysterious magician, Julian has a flashback. But what could it mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can all thank @avalises for this!!

I return that night with a dozen thoughts flying through my head. Celia is the center of most of them, with her slight smile that barely reaches big, beautiful, brown eyes, and her scar that raises a thousand questions. Working for Nadia, I shouldn’t have been able to feel so comfortable with her.

But, seeing her with the bramble on her shoulder, and the burrs all over her. We went the same route, to escape. I remember it well. I close my eye and cover it with the heel of my palm, grinning to myself.

She’s a beautiful, brilliant fool.

But, a fool who can read my handwriting. I pace as that thought comes to me. _“Dear sister.”_ She said it with such ease, like she hadn’t struggled.  She seemed receptive to praise, though.

I chuckle to myself. Store that thought for later, perhaps?

I think back to the letter itself. It weighs heavy on me, heavier than it should. No matter, I suppose.

Celia…

Her name rings like a bell in my mind, and a sharp pain shoots through my skull.

_“Ilya?” asks a sweet voice, warm as summer. “What a lovely name! Why don’t you go by that, instead?”_

_“It’s easier for people to call me Julian,” I hear myself explain. I uncover my eye and look around. This is the library at the palace… “Foreign name and all.”_

_“Can I call you Ilya, then?” asks the voice. I look, but only see a woman’s back as she’s putting books away. She wears a big hat, with roses tucked into it on the side. “I don’t find it hard to say at all. I even like it!”_

_I see myself— a surreal feeling if I’ve ever had one—turn to her with a blush. Even now, I blush. I’m touched._

_“You don’t have to humor me,” past me says as he straightens up. “Just don’t call me Jules.”_

_“Of course not,” she says. As she turns, the vision fades. But I hear, one last time, her voice…_

_“Ilya.”_

I awake with a splitting headache, collapsed on Mazelinka’s floor. The old woman is nowhere to be found, thankfully. I can’t imagine she’ll take kindly to—

“Passed out drunk again, Ilya?”

Oh, fuck me.


	3. Crimson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaay do a smut scene on my other pseud for this.

Of all the places I expected to see her, here was not one of them. Standing in the darkness, by the aqueducts.

“Celia?” I ask, to be sure it is her as I approach. She looks at me, and I stop just beneath one of the lanterns.

“Julian!” she exclaims and I fight back a smile. I step to the edge of the aqueduct, sliding my hand through my hair to brush it out of my face.

I watch her gaze drop to my other hand, holding my old plague mask. I lift it up and examine it. Obsolete, now. Useless, without a plague. Just like me, I suppose.

Funny, the duality of it all. I became a doctor to help people. But now that people are healed, I feel useless. Unnecessary. I glance back up at her.

Truth be told, I almost forgot she was here.

“Celia. Fancy seeing you here, hm? Out for a night walk?” I ask. I sigh and look at the reservoir. So many possibilities run through my mind. “I was just… Thinking. Funny, fickle thing, life, isn’t it?”

“Should you be standing so close to the water?” she asks, her voice warm like summer. _“Ilya.”_

I glance to her, briefly.

“What, this water?” I ask with a smirk. “It’s harmless, Celia. Or as harmless as it can be. It can’t do anything to me.”

I pause. Is that true? It must be.

“It can’t do anything to anyone, anymore. Sure, people might get sick if they go in for a swim, but,” I pause, then burst into a brief smile. “Isn’t it a miracle? They went and figured it out. Or outlasted it. Wonder how they did it?”

How did they do it? Medicine? Vaccines? Burn the bodies and pray?

“It’s no matter, I suppose. Life finds a way, doesn’t it? The plague is over,” I say. “And so is my career. Who needs a plague doctor if there’s no plague? It’s like a count with no city! Or a barkeep with no drinks.”

I throw my arms out to gesture to the city, my hair falling in front of my good eye. Celia laughs and I can’t help the wide grin on my face. For her sake, I’ll play it up.

“So here I am! Throwing away the last piece of a past I can’t reclaim. Pity, isn’t it? Ah, well,” I pause, looking down at the mask, my hair still in my face. I almost don’t want to do it. But this is what I resolved to do.

I drop it into the water. Eels surround it the moment it hits the water. I watch, transfixed.

“Julian…” Celia’s voice draws my attention, only for the obnoxious raven to almost fly into us, screeching. That can only mean one thing.

“Guards afoot, Celia! Look lively, we’d best make tracks.” I turn and run, only briefly looking to see if she follows. I’m relieved when she does.

I arrive at the street first and turn to her just in time to see her slip on a wet stone. She tumbles backwards into the reservoir. My heart clenches in my chest. How far are the guards?

Damn it to hell!

I run to her aid.

“Celia!” I call out as I grab her wrist and tug. An eel has latched to her side, her blood bright red and clear to see through its translucent skin. That just won’t do. “On the count of three. One. Two—“

I grip the eel behind its head, forcing it to let her go, and toss it back into the water.

“Three. Up you go, then. Easy now, I’ve got you,” I say as I help her. She gasps for air as she stumbles away from the reservoir, soaked and slipping. I place my hand on her lower back to help steady her.

We don’t have time for romantic acts of heroism, however. I half drag her as we run down the street. “Can you stand?”

We’re a little safer now, tucked away in the shadow of a building. She looks ten shades too pale, circles around her eyes. She’s lost a fair bit of blood. She’s shaking, trying to cling to my arm and only just barely not failing.

“Right, right. Foolish question,” I sigh. I nod to myself and pick her up to carry her the rest of the way. She’s not heavy, at least, but the water in her clothes makes her so.

Before long, we collapse into a narrow, deserted alley, panting from our brief excursion with life and death. Isolated, hidden, I can do what I need to do, now. “Let me see that bite.”

She nods, but doesn’t say anything, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of her dress.

“I’ll, ah, have to take that as a yes,” I say. I carefully lay her down and unbutton the front of her dress. I briefly entertain the thought I’d like to do this in a different context, maybe a different setting.

I pull the top of her dress down to her hip, helping her arms out of it. She doesn’t protest, or even seem upset. Though, I wonder if she’ll reconsider her clothing choices in the future. I cringe at the oozing wound on her side, made to look lesser with the red of the dress when it was on. I apply pressure, but blood oozes out over my hand.

“The bleeding won’t stop. Damn,” I pull my hands away and sigh. No avoiding it. I take off my gloves, then place my hand over the open wound. She shudders. “Hold still.”

For all the good that does. She thrashes as violently as she can. She’s likely gone into shock during all this.

“Look, you’ll be glad you did.” I pin her shoulder and swallow hard. One, two. She stills, laying weakly on the ground.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she groans. “People might talk.”

I laugh and press my hand to her forehead, checking her temperature.

“If you’re well enough to joke, you’re well enough to sit,” I say, relief washing over me. I help her sit up, my hand on her back. She looks dizzy, but she will be alright. That’s all that matters. “At least you didn’t catch me breaking and entering this time.”

She laughs, weaker than normal, but it is still a delightful sound. I help her pull her dress back on to cover herself, looking anywhere but at her body. Even pale and hurt, she is a vision to behold.

“I’ll admit, I was surprise to see you in the neighborhood… You’ve got some kind of luck,” I say, staring at the aqueduct. She turns to look as well. Crimson flows freely. Disgusting.

I can feel her looking at me, but I can’t tear my eye away from it. I glance at her after a moment. I know what she’s looking at.

“Ah. Do you recognize your master’s handiwork?” I ask, feeling weaker as I speak. I can feel the ripping in my skin, punctures where the eel bit her, now on my body. “This… Was his parting gift to me. A curse.”

I press my hand to my side and inhale.

“I’m able to take away bodily wounds, as you can see. And in return, I get to experience them for myself…” I press my other hand to my forehead as I sway. It hurts, but nothing compared to the pain in my skull. Another headache, just like the night we met.

I fight to maintain consciousness.

“It won’t last, it never does,” I groan. She lightly touches my arm and I’m suddenly aware of how small her hand is. “A curse from a witch who fears commitment.”

I’m not still bitter, no.

“Then again, never been bitten by a vampire eel,” I joke. “Might be interesting.”

“Thank you,” she says in a small voice. I look down at her to find her gaze transfixed on my side. My heart skips a beat and seems to _burn_ inside my chest.

“Don’t mention it,” I whisper, as if anything louder would shatter this strange moment between us. “That is, well… Circumstances being as they _were_ … I’m just glad you’re alright.”

I lift my head. I can hear footsteps. _Shit!_

I carefully, but quickly, usher Celia into a nearby alley. I press her against the wall, covering her face with my arm from view of the alley. I’ll be damned if anyone sees her with me. I won’t let her be implicated.

I hold my breath and stare at the wall as I hear the guards march by. I hope, with the darkness of the alley and my coat, they won’t see us. I duck my head and wince, the pain from the bite more intense than I anticipated. I can feel her looking at me, so I drop my gaze to meet hers.

_“Have you really never considered magic?” asks the warm, summer voiced woman. Again, I only see a glimpse of her. I see myself, standing in front of her, arms crossed._

_“It isn’t real,” my past self says. “Science is the way to go.”_

_“Science and magic can coexist, if you let it,” she says. “Just like you and I.”_

_“Ah, but you and I are real,” my past self says. I can picture the smirk on my own face. “Very real.”_

_“Am I?” she challenges me. Him. Me. My past self advances on her until her back is against the bookshelf. “Ilya—“_

_“I’d like to test that theory,” my past self says. I watch as he—I—bends down—_

Brown eyes stare up into mine and I don’t _notice_ the pain. I could drown in her eyes, endless. Beautiful.

“Celia—“ A sudden thud at the entrance of the alley stops me before I can continue. “Not the time. Let’s go.”

Damn it.

I grab her hand and tug her out of the alley, breaking into a run. The city passes us by in a blur of lights and colors, smoke from chimneys and stoves twisting above us to kiss the full, bright moon. We maneuver around the buildings with ease, thanks to my guidance.

Her hand starts to slip, then she gives it a sharp tug. I look, and quickly comply. We arrive at a gated to a quaint garden and I help her climb over the gate. I climb up after her, and land on the other side with practiced ease.

I help her up and dust off her clothes with a small smile. It’s quiet here. Secluded.

Intimate.

“Look at this place! That was some quick thinking on your part, Celia,” I say. “Looks like you’ve a knack for discovering hidden beauty.”

I turn to her and stretch out my arms, crossing one leg in front of the other. It almost pains me; releasing her warm hand. She gives me a full smile.

“I wonder how many parts of the city have fallen to neglect like this, hm?” I ask. I meander over to one of the grotesque statues, stepping over the vines in the way. “And look at this brute. Why, hello there, handsome.”

I throw my arm around the bull statue’s shoulders and turn back to Celia with a look of delighted mischief.

“Dangerous looking fellow, isn’t it?” I tease. She tilts her head, giving me a coy smile.

“I like a little danger,” she says and I feel my heart stop in my chest. She comes over to the statue and stares up at it. In the moonlight, she’s radiant.

“Ohhh? I shouldn’t be so surprised, Celia, it seems you’re _full_ of hidden depths,” I say, but then lean in to look at her. “But tell me… Do you really mean that? You’re certainly brave, it’s true, but do you know what you’re getting into?”

She stares at me, her eyes half-closed and I find myself _needing_ to kiss her. It is a hard fight with myself, but I don’t want to scare her. I also want her answer.

“Isn’t the not knowing what makes it exciting?” she asks with a smile so serene it melts my heart. She sounds so innocent, compared to the filth of my mind and soul.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that’s the _most_ exciting thing about it,” I say, flashing her a wicked grin. Then, I notice something on her shoulder, bright and brilliant. “Ah. Hold still.”

I reach forward and pluck the flower from her shoulder, glowing brilliantly in the darkness. The star shaped petals curl to close as I offer it to her. Does she know what it is?

Will she take it? She reaches out and I pull it back, shaking my head. “Ah ah ah, careful, Celia. There’s poison in the petals.”

She stares at the flower.

“What is it?” she asks. Had she really never seen one before? What a treat.

“Deadly starstrand,” I say. “A single drop of poison distilled from this flower could kill a babe in its crib. It’s killed tyrants and kings, innocent and guilty. It could topple entire empires with a careless hand.”

I offer it to her again, watching her. I’m curious if she’ll take it. If she’ll trust me.

“Do you still want it?”

Without missing a beat, she takes the flower and brings it to her nose to smell. She crinkles her nose, but catches my gaze with hers. “You said the poison has to be distilled. Doesn’t that make it harmless to the touch?”

“Well, I wouldn’t eat it if I were you,” I say, beaming. I wasn’t expecting her to just take it like that. It suits her, for all her beauty and bravery. “But you’re right. It _probably_ won’t kill you like this.”

She lets the flower drop and I catch it with a grin. I brush my fingers against her ear as I put the flower in her hair, just where the rose had been, now that the aqueduct had claimed the red flower. My hand drops to her shoulder.

“It sounds like you’re not afraid of danger,” she says, and I’m only tangentially aware her gaze is on my lips. “Are you?”

“Afraid of danger? Why, Celia, I live for it! Positively enchanted by danger, I am.”

“So pain doesn’t scare you, either?” she asks and I breathe in sharply. If only she knew.

“Why should it? In my line of work, you can’t be afraid of a little pain. One might say I have,” I pause, smirking at her. “Intimate knowledge of it.”

She regards me for a moment, curious, head tilted to the side, then she places her hand on my waist and takes a step toward me. She presses lightly and I swallow, _hard_ , and grin at her. I’d had my doubts.

“Oho, are we dancing? I didn’t know you could,” I tease, deflecting with a joke. “What, er. What’s your poison? Tango? Waltz?”

She takes another step, pressing against the wound in earnest now. The pain is filling, powerful, _heady_. I bite my lip to stifle a moan.

I don’t want her to think I’m _weird_ , after all.

I stumble back until my back hits the crumbling wall behind me and I look down at her, desperate, hungry, _needy_. I want to hurt. I want the pain.

Oh, fuck it.

I want _her_.

“S-so, not the waltz, then?” I laugh a little, breathless. “Pity, I’ve been known to cut a rug—“

I grip her shoulder as she presses harder and my knees buckle, making me slide down the wall a little. Electric heat dances along my veins, scorching the hollow of my throat and something deep in my chest. Does she know what she’s doing to me?

“C-Celia—“ I gasp. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched, let alone like this. “Ah!”

I scowl as footsteps approach, too loud, too noticeable.

“Right on time,” I groan. “L-let’s leave before our guests arrive, hm?”

I half-drag her out onto the street this time, trying to ignore the need burning under my skin. Wicked, vile woman. All the same, I won’t put her in danger. I know just where to go.

I weave in and out of alleys, around buildings, taking her through the less-noticed area of the city. On the outskirts of the district stands our locale, a dilapidated safe-haven. I smile at the sight.

“In we go, Celia!”


	4. Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm still trash

The brass bells at the window hum as Celia and I duck underneath them. I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her, letting it linger as I look around the room. I almost have to hunch so I don’t hit my head on the ceiling. I don’t _see_ her…

“Mazelinka? Sorry to drop in like this, it’s the guards…” I trail off. No sign, still. “Mazelinka! Huh. I don’t know if she’s even home.”

“Mazelinka?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Yes, a dear friend of mine. Sharp as a…” I pause. “…as a hook, great at cards. Hah, she’s definitely not in.”

I’m _almost_ relieved.

“But we can weather the storm here until it blows over. She’s never out long,” I say, then look down at Celia with a frown. Poor thing is still soaked. “Say, are you ah, are you cold? Your clothes are still wet.”

She shakes her head. I can’t help smiling at her. She’s cute, endearing. A charm all her own.

“No? Good. I wouldn’t want you coming down with something,” I say. I decide to take my chances and tilt her chin up. I start to say something, but the door rattles.

Fuck.

“Ilya! …Did you come in the window again, you slippery boy?” A familiar old voice calls out. I glance over to see Mazelinka, draped in her shawl and coat, shuffling in. I immediately straighten up, my hands dropping to my sides, and promptly knock my head against the ceiling with a wince.

Damn her and her short house.

All the same, I give a flourishing bow and offer her my arm, proffering my cheek for a customary kiss as I say, “Ah, Mazelinka! Aren’t you a sight for the sore eye? _Love_ the shawl, is it new?”

“You know it isn’t. I thought you might be about when I saw the guards…oh?” Mazelinka pauses as her gaze shifts from me to Celia. I _almost_ want to comment as the little old woman lowers her hood. “Who do we have here?”

“This is Celia. A…” What are we, exactly? I wouldn’t call us friends, but I also wouldn’t _not_ call us friends. “New friend of mine.”

I glance over and Celia takes it in stride, offering Mazelinka a sweet smile, even if it doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s the sweetest smile I’ve seen from her so far, and it warms my heart. Dangerous woman.

“A new friend, eh? Make yourself comfortable, Celia,” Mazelinka says as she moves into the kitchen, where things are in a disarray.

“Ah, Mazelinka, I did that. I take full responsibility. I wasn’t thinking and I—“

“Don’t fit through the door, I know. Fetch the round pot for me, will you?”

I blink, nod and move to the cupboard set in the wall behind me without missing a beat. I owe Mazelinka a great deal, so no request is too big or too small from her. I’m always more than happy to help.

Even if I am almost dead on my feet, to be entirely fair. I can feel myself swaying. How long has it been since I slept last? I don’t think… Since before I came back, maybe?

I can feel someone staring at me, and when I look over I catch Celia’s gaze. I give her a tired smile and she frowns. I almost don’t notice, too caught up in the beauty of her eyes. There’s a worldliness to them; she’s seen much, but you wouldn’t know it talking to her.

Oh, beautiful, radiant Celia, I consider myself a too lucky man to have your attention for even a moment.

I return to what I was doing. What was I doing? Round pot! That’s right. I reach for the cupboard again and I feel her small hand on mine. I stare at it, wide-eyed. Effortlessly, she moves me aside and grabs the pot, then stares at me with a firm stare.

“Show me the bite.” She all but _commands_ me to do it and I swallow, hard. My knees feel weak.

“The…?” What’s she talking about? “Oh, the bite. You want to see it?”

I glance at Mazelinka. She doesn’t need to know about this. I unfasten my jacket at the bottom and lift my shirt, dimly noticing it’s covered in blood. As I expect, there’s no sign of the bite.

“What do you think?” I ask with a grin. “Good as new?”

She lightly runs her fingers along where the bite should be and I inhale.

“Are you impressed? It is your master’s magic, shouldn’t be a big surprise for you.”

She looks up at me, lips parted just so and I want little more than to kiss her. Except, maybe, to sleep. In her daze, I snatch the pot from her and take it to the fireplace. She follows me.

“Ech, worrywort’s gone stale,” Mazelinka says. “I’ve got more in the garden… pardon me, Celia.”

Mazelinka hums as she leaves, brandishing her rusty knife like a saber. Celia and I are alone again. Any other time, perhaps I’d try something, but now…

I slump against the counter, leaning on my arm. I brush my bangs from my face and close my eye. That bite… It took a lot more out of me than I thought it would.

“Huh, who would’ve thought that a bite like that would take so much out of me?” I ask with a short, tired laugh. “Not to belittle your bite, mind you, I’ve treated a few dozen, unfortunately… You’re the first to make it. Well, you and I.”

I open my eye and look at her with a soft smile. I’m glad she’s alright; it lightens my heart. I frown and look away as a thought crosses my mind.

“They’re not aggressive, the eels. And they wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the… the Count,” I say. Damnable _bastard_. I loathe him with every cell in my body, for things I remember with perfect clarity, and things I don’t.

Celia shudders and I go still. I think I know where this is going. Something heavy settles in my gut.

“Why did you come back?” she asks. I stare at her for a hard moment, studying the downward curve of her lips and the stern look in her eyes. What is she getting at?

If it’s an honest question, I can’t blame her. Perfect crime and all. I escaped, I got away with murder.

“I need answers. If I don’t find the truth here, I’ll lose my mind looking for it,” I say. Feels good to say it, actually. I give her a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.”

She looks unimpressed. Concerned, even. I tut at her and lazily slide my bare hand along her neck and let it rest at the base of her scalp. My fingers lightly dig in.

“As you may have guessed, I have some questions for your master. If you knew…” I sneer. “The years, the, the _distance_ I’ve gone to find him…”

She makes a soft gasp and I look down at her. Small, but fierce. Radiant and burning bright. I grin, but I know, to her, it must look almost sinister.

“Ah, what does it matter?” I ask. “It’s not like there’s anywhere else I’d rather be.”

I lean toward her, looming over her as she stares at me with wide, curious eyes. I could kiss her. Ravish her. Do I scare her? Does she like it?

I want to know.

“Ilya, you’re barely on two feet. When is the last time you slept?” Mazelinka asks. I drop the façade.

“Ah, well, ever since the curse, I don’t really need it the way I used to, dear,” I say, straightening up and releasing Celia. She doesn’t take her eyes off me.

“Says who? Your eye is rolling. Curse shmurse.”

I look to the floor, catching sight of Celia’s feet. Poking from under her dress is a pair of boots. Not what I was expecting. I slowly lift my gaze until I see her dark red lips and scar.

“I’m fine, really,” I say with a smirk. “Haven’t felt this good in a while.”

Mazelinka sighs as she tosses a handful of sand into the pot and stirs. She’s exasperated. She wants me to rest, but I don’t _need_ it.

I need _her_.

“I’ll be very happy for you after you’ve rested. Go on. Shoo.” Stubborn old woman.

“…Just until the soup is done,” I say, pouting. I’ll give her that and nothing more.

I look at Celia again, taking in her features and committing them to memory. I’m a wanted man. Tomorrow could be my last day, and I want the picture of her face seared into my mind.

I let my eye trail from the gentle curve of her lips, to the sharp angle of her jaw. Up the scar on her cheek and across her small nose to the beauty mark on the opposite cheek. Her half-closed, beautiful brown eyes stare back at me, one brow arched up in confusion. Her hair, pulled back in a damp ponytail, with the poisonous flower still tucked where a rose was.

I’m drunk on her beauty.

“Just till the soup is done. Well? Will you survive that long without her?” Mazelinka asks, ripping me from my daze.

“I’ll survive,” I say, blushing. I start to head to bed, but stop to take Celia’s hand in my own. “You’ll have to excuse me, Celia. You’re in good company.”

I let my fingertips brush against her palm before I step into the room.

I start to pace, my mind racing. She’s so _sincere_. What are her goals with me?

No. I need rest. I sit on the bed and strip my jacket off, followed by my gloves. I unbutton my shirt and slouch. I’m more worn than I thought I’d be. I almost want to just sleep in my boots, but I don’t want to deal with that later.

I take one off, only to glance up and see her. I give her a sly grin. Isn’t this just scandalous?

“Celia, did you come to tuck me in?” I tease. I finish with my other boot and kick it away with a yawn. “I won’t last long, I’m afraid. I know when I’m beat. If there’s one thing I know, it’s my own body. When it comes to healing, it takes as long as it takes, whether I like it or not. Isn’t it amazing?”

She gives me an unimpressed look and I give her a sheepish grin.

“Stab me in the back and I’ll walk it off,” I say, regretting it almost instantly. Bad joke. “But healing will take everything I’ve got. Can’t escape it.”

Before either of us can say another word, Mazelinka pokes her head in with the soup.

“Drink,” she says as she hands me the bowl and I exhale, slowly. “Celia, will you be staying the night as well?”

I choke and cough, having just taken a swig of the soup. Damn you, Mazelinka. I stare down at the bowl.

“Oh. It’s _that_ kind of soup?”

“I won’t let you run yourself into the grave. You’re still human, Ilya.”

“Not as if matters much,” I mumble, holding the bowl out to her. She takes it, then places it in Celia’s hands.

“Celia, would you be a dear and see that he drinks?” she asks her and my eye goes wide. Vile woman! “I have a feeling he’ll take whatever you’re giving him.”

“What for?” I ask. “I’m not even feeling tired any moormmnn…”

That’s a lie. A bad lie. It’s obvious. I yawn and rub at my eye, exhaustion slamming into me.

“She makes that soup when I can’t sleep. Bless her,” I say, offering Celia a tired smile. “Even when I’m beyond stress, raving, beating my wings against the walls… Don’t know what she puts in it.”

She stares down at the bowl and I eye it, waiting to see if she’ll obey Mazelinka’s request. I lick my lips, almost without thought. The soup _is_ delicious, and the idea of Celia taking care of me…

Well.

That’s a different train of thought.

“And… It tastes _fantastic_ ,” I tell her with a salacious grin as I let my gaze shift to her lips.

She sets the bowl aside and I feel my heart rise into my throat, staying there with a heavy pulse. I watch as she drops a knee on the bed and leans over me, finding it suddenly hard to focus. My gaze travels from her knee, to where her dress is belted at her hips, up her chest as I try to forget the way it looked bathed in the moonlight, to her face as she watches me with half-lidded eyes, her dark red lips parted just so.

She grips my hair at the nape of my neck and I lose control of my own voice. I moan, as she pulls me closer. Her lips press against mine and my heart _throbs_ in my throat, electricity bouncing along every nerve and vein in my body.

“Mm… oh, _Celia_ …” I gasp. I wrap my arms around her and pull her back onto me, pressing my lips to hers in desperate need. Her lips are soft, and so close, she smells wonderful. A smoky mixture of patchouli and myrrh, mixed with some kind of light, sharp and fragrant oil.

She tightens her fingers in my hair and I find myself _needing_ her so much more. I groan, staring up at her with desire. I need her. I need her. _I need her_.

“Come here, come closer,” I gasp. She does and I pull her down into another heated kiss. Her body is atop mine and I could go mad for hunger for her.

She pulls my head back and I hiss, but god _damn_ it all, it feels good. All the same, I should be careful. That might’ve been more than she was okay with.

“What, what’s wrong?” I ask, almost breathless. “Too much? You can tell me. I’ll be good.”

Anything for you, Celia. I’ll be good. I promise, for you I’ll be good.

She pushes me onto my back and I stare up at her, propped up on my elbows, expectant. She studies me for a moment, then places a hand on my breastbone. I fall back, letting her pin me, and stare up her through half-lidded eye. I like surrendering control, and she seems to go with it _well_. She has taken the reigns, and I am but her willing servant.

“I was told you’d need to be pinned.” The way she says that sends a delicious shiver down my spine. I give her a salacious grin.

“If it’s you doing the pinning, trust me…” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s enough for now, you two!” I hear Mazelinka shout. Celia’s face turns a deep crimson as she straightens up and sits on the bed, wiping her mouth. Right, rigid. Refined.

I want to lean up, to play with her hair and nibble at the soft curve of her throat. Before I can sit up again, a sheet is thrown over me. Damn it, Mazelinka.

“Celia, I trust you’ll be sharing the bed?” Mazelinka asks. “Unless… You’d rather sleep in the hiding hole? And I’ll cozy in with him.”

I pull the sheet from my head and clear my throat, keeping my gaze on Celia.  
‘I’ll sleep with him,” she says. I bite back a comment, swallowing it down so as not to embarrass her. I grin, wide, even as Mazelinka pats my hand.

“There you have it, dear,” I say. “Don’t worry, I’ll be an absolute gentleman.”

“Oh, will you?” Mazelinka asks. I don’t have to look to see her judgmental stare. “Celia, hold him to that.”

“Absolutely. Hold me however you want, Celia.”

I couldn’t help it. Mazelinka swats me before taking my things and moving to the partition. I almost want to laugh.

“Get some sleep, already!”

“That I can’t promise you!”

Celia’s face almost glows red as Mazelinka leaves. I hope, secretly, there won’t be any sleeping. Not until I’ve satisfied the vision of beauty in front of me.

I give her a teasing look as I move to make room, splaying out on half the twin bed.

“Look at that. Nice and spacious,” I say. I toss the sheet back and she slides into the bed with me. She’s so warm beside me.

I pause as I pull the sheet over her, playing with the edge a little. Oh, sweet Celia… You made a mistake indulging me.

“I, uh, I hope I’m not coming on too strong? I’d love to make something real with you,” I say. Unlike what happened with her master. That was a mistake. This, honestly, is also a mistake. “If we had more time…”

I try not to let my pain show. Time is not something I have an abundance of, let alone with her. Perhaps I should cut myself off before there’s any risk of attachment.

She brushes my hair from my face and I feel my body tense.

“Celia…” You deserve better than what little I have to offer, you beautiful fool. All the same, I can’t let her know what is running through my mind. I smile. “Don’t mind me. Just rambling… I must really be exhausted.”

I lightly touch her jaw, prompting her to shift until I can give her a gentle kiss, a loving kiss. I let my lips linger, almost expecting her to vanish. Expecting this moment to be ripped away from me right now.

“Good night, Celia,” I whisper. I turn away from her and close my eye.

Oh, sweet Celia…

How could you ever hope to stay with a man like me? With no future and a broken past? A murderer, who is too screwed up to ever hope for anything _normal._


	5. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't deserve her." Julian tells himself. "But I want to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to Sorianis, thank you! I am lazy. Anyway, this chapter kind of starts to diverge from the game's canon, scene-wise, so huzzah.

_“Are you alright?” I ask as I approach the girl with the roses in her hat. She’s curled up, crying in the hallway. Her shoulders shake, wrapped in a soft pink shawl, light and shimmery with the way it catches on the sconces._

_“H-huh?” she asks, lifting her head. I place my hand on her shoulder. “I-ilya, is that you?”_

_“Mhm,” I say, smirking a little. “In the flesh.”_

_“I’m fine,” she says, and I know it’s a lie._

_“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I say. “Come on, why don’t we go look out at the garden? Much prettier than the hallway.”_

_She says nothing as she stands. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and we walk to the balcony. She trembles beside me._

_“I woke to an empty shop,” she whispers as we walk. “He left.”_

_Ah… My heart sinks a little. She’s taken after all. Or was. What cruel man would make her cry?_

_“You deserve someone who makes it their goal to see you smile,” I say, grinning. She giggles. “I mean it! You have a beautiful smile, and it should light up your partner’s day.”_

_“If you really think like that, it’s a crime you’re still single, Ilya,” she teases. “Unless you’re hiding a spouse from me.”_

_“I’m hurt,” I tell her. “Truly! You think I’d hide something like that from you?”_

_“No,” she says with a soft laugh. “I suppose not.”_

“N-no— please—“ I gasp, thrashing on the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—“

I fall off the bed and bite my lip so as not to shout, awakening with a shock. I drop my head back to the floor and groan, heaving. Nightmares…

I glance over and see Celia, forcing myself to give her a wry grin.

“Celia… Did I wake you?” I ask. “I… Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She says nothing as she helps free me from the bedsheets. My muscles all seem to have turned to stone from tension. I tremble, keeping my gaze to the floor.

“It sounded like you were having a nightmare.” It sounds so matter-of-fact. Straight to the point, eh, Celia?

“Did it?” I say, then sigh. “That would be… Because I was. Having a nightmare, that is.”

I swallow hard as I drop down to the edge of the bed, slumping as I rest my elbows on my knees. My mind is a jumbled mess. In truth, it didn’t start as a nightmare…

_We talked on the balcony before everything turned red. A dungeon… Valdemar leans over my shoulder, their long, slender fingers brandishing a scalpel in front of me._

_“Count Lucio’s orders, Doctor Devorak,” they hiss in my ear. I swallow hard as I look at the scalpel. “She’s the perfect subject.”_

_“But—“_

_“We’ve never had one so precarious on the balance,” they say. “She could hold all the answers. Her pain could save all of Vesuvia. You want that, don’t you?”_

_“Everyone…”_

_The victim stares up at me with wide, brown eyes on red sclera. She’ll die anyway, no matter what I do. They always do. They all do._

_Valdemar forces the scalpel into my hand and guides it down to the body in front of me. For a moment, she looks so familiar as she thrashes. A scream rips from her throat and—_

“Seems silly in the light of day,” I say. “Or, er…dawn. It wasn’t real…Was it?”

Best not to think too into it.

“Ahem. Why are you out of bed?” I ask, trying to change the topic.

“You’re trying to change the subject,” she says and I cringe. Can’t play those tricks here, can I? “Please, Julian. I heard you talking in your sleep and you’re still shaking.”

“What, shaking? Nonsense. I’m a doctor!” I say, holding my hands up as evidence. “My hands are as sure as death and taxes.”

She takes one of my hands and I stop. No lying to her, it seems. Damn it. I try to pull my hand away, but she doesn’t let go.

“I told you, it’s nothing. It wasn’t real. I have no reason to be upset,” I say. I jump as she sits next to me and slides closer. “I can’t hide anything from those piercing eyes, can I? Don’t know why I bothered in the first place.”

She gives me a half-smile.

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” I ask. It feels so heavy of a question, but comes out so light.

“Forgiveness?”

“Do you think…that even truly heinous things can be forgiven?” I ask, looking at my hand. “Or are there some things you don’t get to come back from?”

“You can come back,” she says, and with such _conviction_. How would she know? Are her hands soaked in blood, too? “You can always come back.”

“If I could just remember…then I would know. If what I’ve done is something unforgiveable,” I say. She places her other hand on my arm.

“What will you do if it is?” she asks in a voice so small it seems unnatural for her.

“I—“

What would I do? I’ve never considered it… I’ve always focused on forgiveness.

“If I can’t make it right, then I’ll take whatever punishment I deserve. Without question,” I say. Noticing the somber look on her face, I brighten up. “Well, isn’t this a dour conversation? Ahh, don’t mind me, Celia. Just the sleep deprivation talking! Five cups of coffee and I’ll get the pep back in my step.”

She sits against the wall at the head of the bed and pulls me with her. No coffee, then? Alright.

“Oh, erm—are you, is this what we’re doing now? Alright,” I stammer. All the same, I’m still tired. Can she just sense that? I lay my head against her chest and close my eyes.

She runs her fingers through my hair and the tension starts to crawl off me. Am I so easy to read? “Julian, you have to relax,” she tells me. Under her touch, I think I can.

“Right, sorry,” I mumble. I shift and stretch my legs out, toying with different things to call her in my head. Rose, Mistress, Celly, Lia. Would she oppose any of them? I take a deep breath.

“Julian, you need to sleep,” she says, tapping my nose. I open my eyes, slumping against her with an almost-smile as I look up at her.

“…Thank you, Celia,” I say. And god do I want to kiss her again. Framed by the delicate fingers of early dawn sunlight reaching into the room, she looks beautiful. Holy, sacred, _divine_.

“Thank me _after_ you get some sleep,” she says, then pauses. “…Ilya.”

I beam up at her, then close my eyes and nestle against her. Perhaps, sweetest Celia, you are the cure to the terrors that plague me. The nightmares that chase and haunt me, perhaps, won’t exist in your arms.

I drift off.

_“I’m a magician,” she says as she walks in front of me, her hat giving a floppy bounce with each step. Thick brown hair hangs loose underneath it and I can tell she’s never had to work like I do._

_“Magic isn’t real,” I tell her. I say her name, but I don’t hear it._

_“Magic is real, and I can show you,” she says, turning to face me. The sun is too bright; I can’t see her face._

_She holds out her hands, so small and delicate, and a small orb of light manifests above both. A trick at best. A cute trick, but a trick all the same._

_“Mirrors and sunlight,” I say, waving it off as I walk around her. The orbs appear again in front of my face. “This isn’t funny.”_

_“Have some fun, Dr. Devorak, is it?” she asks. I nod. “You’ll find life is more enjoyable that way.”_

Another dream of the girl with summer warmth for a voice. I can speculate who she is all I want, but perhaps it is wishful thinking. To pretend Celia and I have met before.

I glance at her sleeping form. At some point, she unbuttoned her dress down to the breastbone and the belt she wears is on the table next to the candle. Sunlight catches her face and I find myself entranced.

I reach up and take her hair out of the ponytail, taking the tie she uses and holding it up to look at it. It is not long for use, judging how thin it is in spots. It will snap before long.

Pasha might have some she can spare.

My fingers slide through her hair and I lean up to bring a lock to my lips. She never stirs, but her nose crinkles. What does she dream about, I wonder?

All the same…

I have things to tend to. I sit up and take care not to make a sound as I comb out my hair and get dressed. Every now and again, I look back at her. Asleep, peaceful, _unaware_. My heart weighs heavy in my chest.

I had hoped…

 _Oh, Julian, you fool,_ I tell myself. _She stole your heart at hello._

I leave the room, my mind racing. I’m a wanted man. She deserves better; a free person, so she can live a free life. Hell, it _is_ her job to turn me in to Nadia.

I pace in the small kitchen. I’m a sinner. Blood is on my hands. How could she possibly know how that feels? What it’s like?

I’m a failure. I don’t _deserve_ her light. Can’t she see that?

She is helping me. She doesn’t have to, but she’s choosing to look at this through my eyes. And every time she touches me…

It’s made me realize how badly I’ve wanted to be touched like that again, to feel _wanted_.

I hear a chair being pulled and I look over to see her at the table. She hasn’t noticed me. Probably for the best, but…

“Oh, you’re, er, already up…” I say as I approach her. She looks up. “Listen, Celia, we… We need to talk.”

She gives me a wary look and crosses her arms. I deserve that, don’t I? “Alright…”

“Good, good. But, uh, not here. Let’s go to the market, shall we?” I ask with a nervous grin. “More places to talk.”

“Are you—“

“After you, my dear,” I say, cutting her off, holding my arm out to her. She scowls, but takes it.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything I could tie my hair back with, then?” she asks as we leave Mazelinka’s house. “I’m not fond of letting it flow free like this in public.”

“It looks beautiful,” I tell her, giving her a sideways glance. She looks up at me, her hair in thick waves and half in her face. I brush it away and her cheeks redden.

“Just this once,” she says, looking away from me. I chuckle. I would almost say she’s pouting.

It serves as a gentle balm for my thoughts and fears. I want to throw them aside; to kiss her and hold her and lay in bed the whole day. But I can’t.

We eventually escape the labyrinthine alleyways into a side street, bustling with life. I can think of no place better to hide than plain sight, after all. And this market-street is so tucked away, I’m not afraid of guards.

“Celia… About that talk—“ I stop. Not yet. “Wait, I nearly forgot! First things first. Mazelinka left a shopping list for us. Just a few ingredients to pick up.”

In truth, I don’t want to be alone. I retrieve the list from my pocket and examine it. Mazelinka’s handwriting isn’t the easiest to read, but then, neither is mine.

“Pickled tingleberry, charred newt flesh…” I read off, wrinkling my nose. “A-… What does this… Ah, articulated goosewart… She uses them for her folk remedies, you see. Most effective pep-up soup I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot of soup.”

Celia takes the list from me to read herself. She brushes her hair behind her ear, keeping it out of her face. She frowns, then looks up at me.

“Does Mazelinka practice magic?” she asks. “These are all spell ingredients.”

“What? These things?” I ask, bristling at the thought. “Nonsense. They’re ingredients for medicine. Effective ones, too.”

“Well, in any case,” she says and I relax. “They shouldn’t be too hard to find? They’re fairly standard. Uhm…”

“Hm?”

She shakes her head, glancing down at the list again. She has something on her mind, and I can guess what it is. But, she holds her tongue, probably for my sake.

I’m grateful.

“Where would you go to buy something like this around here?” she asks, her tone suddenly bright again. She looks around at the market around us. I chuckle.

“I’m glad you asked. I’ve got a guy,” I say. She stares at me.

“A guy?”

“Mhmm,” I say, grinning wide. “A guy. It’s important to have guys, Celia. People you can rely on.”

People you can rely on…

I can’t do this to her. We need to have this talk. _I_ need to have this talk.

“…You deserve to have someone like that, too. Someone who can be there for you,” I say, taking a deep breath and closing my eye. “Someone I can’t be. So, Celia, about that talk—“

“Jules, that you?” a familiar voice calls out. “Ain’t seen you in the city fer years, y’old dog! What’re you doin’ here, eh?”

I open my eye and spin to look, making sure I don’t see Celia. I can’t bear to look at her. There’s a lump in my throat and I want to cry, but Tilde is a good distraction.

“Tilde! Good to see you!” I call out as she marches up to me. “How’s the wife? Still having those headaches?”

“She’s doin’ fine,” Tilde says, waving her hand. “Still talkin’ ‘bout moving to Prakra. What’re we gonna do that for, they don’t got a leech market?”

I laugh and pat her arm.

“Give her my regards, won’t you, Tilde?” I ask. She nods. “Good seeing you, but I have to be on my way.”

“Don’t be a stranger!” Tilde says as I take Celia’s hand. I pull her further into the crowds.

So many people here recognize and remember me. I hear my name at least a dozen times. Maybe this was a bad idea. Too late now.

“So, listen. We need to—“

“Watch it! Comin’ through! Biscuits, get back here!” A tiny urchin shouts as he barrels past us, chasing down a ragged looking dog as it howls. Celia takes a step toward the dog, then stops and looks up at me.

As she does, the urchin pushes against her and she fall backwards. She stumbles back and I know she’ll hit the fruit cart.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she falls against me. The two of us stumble backwards. I pull Celia into my chest so, when she falls, she won’t get hurt.

“Celia, are you—“ I stop. “Ohhhh, no…”

The cart beside us wobbles, one apple tempting fate. It falls, then rolls to my foot. Maybe it won’t be so bad?

The cart shudders.

“Ohhh, that’s going to hurt—“ I say. “Watch out for—!“

No time. I grab her and roll so I’m between her and the collapsing cart. It slams into me and I grunt, squeezing my eye shut. It hurts, a lot. I slowly open my eye.

“Are you alright? Nothing hit you, did it?” I ask. She shakes her head and I pull her to her feet. I dust her off, examining her. “Now… Isn’t this a mess? Well, looks like I’m buying a fruit stand today.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asks as I dig in my cloak for my bag. Aha, there it is.

I turn to the vendor and proffer up the coins I have. I pour out the coins for the vendor, almost sheepish. Collections from my travels. Eventually, they accept, too harried to worry about the finer details of currency.

“Well, that’s that,” I say before turning away from the crashed cart and gesturing wide. “Free fruit! Come get your free fruit, everyone!”

I dash back to Celia as the crowd descends on the fruit. It takes less time than the crash before the fruit is gone. I grab Celia’s hand and pull her to a side street to make sure she isn’t hurt.

“Julian,” she says, putting her small hand on my shoulder. I don’t want to look at her. Guilt forms as a lump in my throat.

_“Ilya,” says that warm voice again. “Ilya, get some rest.”_

_“I can’t,” I argue. “Everyone’s counting on me to do what’s right.”_

“Mmhmrhm, yep?” I ask, ignoring my eye starting to water. “You weren’t hurt, were you? Everything still where it should be? Sorry about that, should’ve mentioned the streets can get rowdy.”

I swallow hard. Now isn’t the time for our talk, either. Not on the heels of one of those… Visions? I don’t know what to call them.

“Ah! I know, I’ll make it up to you,” I say, looking at her face with a half-smile. “This next place is sure to knock your socks off. Nice little teahouse, just down the way. We can sit there and…”

Right.

“Talk. It’s cozy. You’ll like it,” I say. I give her hand a squeeze as I lead her away.

Beautiful, shining Celia. How can I tell her the power she has over me? How can I be so stupid to have gotten so attached so quick? I can’t even lie to myself and say she’d treat me the same way her _master_ did.

“ _Ilya_ ,” she whispers. Somehow, that hurts more. I say nothing.

It’s all I can say right now. 


	6. Actor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the theater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVENTUALLY, SMUT WILL HAPPEN TO BE WRITTEN ELSEWHERE.

I pretend to not hear her as we walk, holding her hand in mine as we stroll through the city. A street performer’s lute paints notes across the air and, for a moment, I pretend we’re just a normal couple on a romantic stroll. I glance over at her.

“ _Julian_ ,” she says. “About this talk…”

“Let me… Just… In time,” I say. “Please.”

Celia pauses and stares at me. I turn to face her and take both of her hands in mine. Vesuvia vanishes around me as I look down into beautiful brown eyes, shining almost like copper in the sun’s light. Her hair falls in waves around her face, a stubborn strand hanging across an eye.

I could kiss her. Fuck the talk where I push her away. Fuck my past. Fuck Vesuvia and Lucio and the plague and my nightmares and my visions.

“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “I’m… I’m worried about you, Julian.”

“Don’t be,” I say as I brush that strand behind her ear. She places her hand against mine, pressing my palm against her cheek. “Celia…”

I glance up and immediately light up when I see a familiar building. It’s still standing! Oh, my heart sings out in joy.

“So it’s still standing,” I say. “I used to come here all the time, back in the day. It was an irresistible spot.”

I lead her to the building.

“High ceilings, great ambience…little booths, tucked away,” I tell her with a smirk. Oh, the mischief I could get into there! “And underground? You could lounge around for hours, just talking. And we, uh, do need—”

We duck under a rotting beam and down a meandering stairwell to the underground level. If we’re going to have this talk, I can think of nowhere better. “—to talk. No matter how hard I try to avoid it.”

She frowns. I ignore her stare as I yank open the iron door, then bow over my arm at my waist and gesture inside the building.

“After you, my dear,” I say. She steps inside and I follow.

The breath is briefly robbed my from lungs as I look at the faded fabrics hanging from the ceiling. There are dusty, dramatic odds and ends here and there, leaving a narrow walkway. The heavy, stale musk is not unfamiliar.

I make a show of peeking around each corner, hoping Celia will giggle. She doesn’t. I don’t have to hide my pain; I’m distracted by the sounds of lilting conversation. A crowd?

I glance at Celia out of the corner of my eye.

“Well, this is all very unlike the way I remember it,” I say. It’s more than a little disappointing. “The place must have gone under…that’s a shame. They used to serve this smoky tea that I haven’t been able to find since.”

I take her through the corridor.

“Now it seems to be some kind of an…oddities…artifacts…antiques? Emporium,” I say. “Still cozy, though.”

I bring my hand to Celia’s hip and give her a suggestive look. She laughs and my chest feels light, the dull ache in my head receding. Oh, Celia, sweet Celia. My balm. I look away as something catches my eye.

I step away from her.

“Now, what have we here?” I ask as I take the plague doctor’s mask off the dusty mirror. “What’s this? It’s not really a medical mask, is it?”

I turn the mask and hold it up to scrutinize it, my fingers dancing along the different part.

“We used to stuff the beak with…herbs, camphor, roses,” I pause. The girl with the flowers in her hat… “You know… When we had them… I think this is just a statement piece.”

I chuckle and flip it around. Who would ever want this as a decorative piece? Someone with dark tastes, I imagine. Curious, I glance at Celia.

Are you that someone? Do you wear the rose in your hair to hide your darkness? The sinister side of you? The macabre?

“Do you want to put it on?” she asks. My jaw drops. What? Put it…

After I…

“If you’re trying to suggest I miss the one I tossed to the eels… Let me just tell you how much it _pains_ me that you caught me doing that, but, you know…” I caress the beak and stare down at it. “It doesn’t bother me half as much in black.”

I grin at her.

“Maybe I _will_ put it on.” Does she want me to? Is she curious? Did she like our first meeting, in her store? She nods and I fasten the mask around my head.

The smell is _very_ different from my old one. Fragrant in a far different way. Never thought to use _those_ herbs.

“Well, it doesn’t smell like any of the herbs _we_ used,” I say. I chuckle. “How funny. Who would have thought that anyone would ever wear something like this for aesthetic? I may not have contributed to the world of medicine, but, clearly, I was making waves in the world of fashion. How does it look?”

She considers me, tapping her lip with her finger. In this light, she looks delightfully mysterious. It is only now that I realize she’s left the top two buttons undone on her dress, showing her clavicle and a teasing hint of cleavage.

My lady in red, indeed.

At her waist, the belt cinches the dress to artfully show her curves before her form disappears to the smooth column of the skirt. My throat goes dry at the sheer thought of her. Disrobed, my lady in red, elegant and refined. She’s considerably chaste to look at, and I don’t know if it makes me lust for her _more_ or not.

I force myself to look at her face, trailing up her throat to her jaw. I would drive myself mad to know the story of that scar. Where did it come from, my radiant rose? Her lipstick from yesterday is still a dark shade of crimson, but just as intoxicating to look at. I slowly bring my eye to meet hers and realize she’s staring at my lips under the beak of the mask.

“Hmmm?” I chuckle. “You think it’d be hard to kiss with one of these? Imagine kissing with two of them.”

She advances on me, to my amusement. Willing to try, my pretty flower? She leans up on tiptoe, but before I can lean in for the kiss, she goes for my throat. Her teeth close, tentatively, on the flesh at my jugular. My breath catches and I close my eye for a moment.

My hand rests on the back of her neck, my fingers tightening against her skin. She bites down a little more and I shiver. Desire dances across my veins, electric, _hot_.

“Mmm… _That’s_ more like. I love it. Here,” I pull my collar aside and she scrapes her sharp canine along the connection of my collarbone to the base of my jaw. She bites down, digging into my neck, and kneads the rough skin between her teeth.

My knees buckle and I _want_ more. I am desperate for her. I need her. I need to feel her against me.

She releases the pressure and I _gasp_.

“If you’re worried about marking me…don’t be,” I say. _I want you to._ “Don’t take it personally. It’s the curse.”

Asra’s fucking curse.

“You’ll have to do more than _that_ to leave your mark on muuaahhhh…” She cuts me off by sucking on my earlobe, hard, then biting down with a sharp ferocity. My hands flex and clench at the air. I’m scared. Scared I’ll chase her away.

But, **_god_** , I want her! I need her! My radiant Celia, my _lovely_ Celia, with all her mysteries and all her beauty and charm. One dalliance, one dance, one night, just us. A memory I’d cherish until I die.

“Yess, that’s it, darling, don’t be shy,” I gasp. “Give me something to remember you by...”

“Remember me by?” she asks, her voice low and sultry. I could drown in that tone. “Julian—“

I huff and wrap an arm around her shoulders, then whirl her around and pin her to the mirror. My breath comes out shaky, but I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, _I don’t care_. I want to be selfish. I _am_ selfish.

I will not be the vehicle of my own ruin right now.

“Did I say that?” I ask, looming over the shopkeep in my arm. She stares up at me and I can see she’s conflicted. _Do I ask him, or do I let this continue?_

Darling Celia, don’t ask.

She reaches behind my neck and undoes the knotted cord behind my head. She takes off the mask and I immediately feel guilt.

“Is something wrong?”

“Is it wrong I want to see your face?” she asks and I feel my cheeks redden. My… She wants…

Oh, darling Celia… You see through me like glass. I hate it, but I love it. I can’t pretend with you.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I whisper. I pull her into a kiss. There is no attempt at dominance here, nor is there any of me submitting to her.

Just a kiss.

And yet, it’s so damn _perfect_. This petite woman in my arms, as radiant as the sun, beautiful as a rose. And she wants me.

My heart _thuds_ against my ribcage and it aches. It feels full to the point of bursting, but shatters at the same time. Could it be I’m…?

When we part, I laugh a deep, almost dark laugh.

“It looks strange on me, the mask. This one _and_ the one I wore back then,” I say. “Shame on me, letting something so unpleasant come between us…”

“I don’t know,” she giggles. “I did kind of like it.”

I start to say something, then my grin fades as I step away from her. I can hear it. It upsets me, but I’m curious. Is it real, or in my head?

But god, I want her. I want to devour her, ravish her. I want to hear her screaming my name and—

A loud, miserable wail rips through the air, confirming my thoughts.

“You heard that?” I ask her. She nods, a brow quirked at me. I snatch the mask from Celia and put it back on. “Humor me and stay close.”

She makes a quiet, whining sound and I bite my lip. Is she alright? Or is she as upset as I am that our dalliance was interrupted?

I take her hand and bring a finger to my lips. I need silence. We sneak toward the wail, under feather boas and over empty bottles, until we approach a set of heavy, velvet curtains. A thin beam of red light peaks out from between them. I peek into the part.

Under the spotlight, an actor is draped in sheer scarlet robes and wearing a porcelain half-mask.

“Wait up in my room? On _my_ birthday?” the actor whines. Damn, he has Lucio spot on. “What do you expect me to do all night in here? Clomp around in my hooves? Beg the busboy for table scraps? If I can’t disgust anyone doing it, what is the point?”

“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “That’s fantastic, it sounds just like him.”

It really is perfect. I can see the golden hair on his head, silver eyes staring at me with contempt and lust. _Jules._

“Well, I’m glad to see that the arts are flourishing. A renaissance may have begun since I’ve been away,” I say. The place is _packed_. “But…if this is Lucio on his birthday night, then…you don’t suppose this is a show about the murde—“

The audience bursts into a roar of laughter as a sandbag drops between us and the curtain starts to close. I am ripped into the air by a moving rope. Before I know it, I’m hanging over the actor.

I…I am at a loss as to what to do. I wasn’t anticipating this. But…

Might as well go with it.

I squirm until I can knock my knife free from my boot. I then swing until I get a grip on the rope, then sever it. I try to maneuver to land on my feet, but end up splayed across the actor’s lap. The actor stares at me for half a beat.

“…Doctor Devorak! Here to cure my boredom!” Good save, buddy. The audience laughs and applauds. I swallow as I look around. Think, Julian.

I look back at the actor.

I give a sharp laugh and rise up on my knees, straddling the Count’s waist. Give them a show, right?

“Hello, my poor, poor patient. The clock strikes thirteen for you tonight,” I say with a malicious cackle. I yank back my glove and let it snap back. The actor falls back with a gasp. “I’ve come to end your suffering. Enjoy that gasp, it will be your last.”

“What are you going to do? Smother me with your thighs?” he asks and my stomach twists in disgust. How well known _was_ Lucio’s desire for me?

“For the hundredth time, no.” I lunge down at him, making every move dramatic enough to enthrall the audience. I play the villain, thrashing with the actor, feathers flying everywhere. I yank the actor’s hair and he rears back, drawing a wobbling sword from behind the daybed. He kicks me off and hops to his feet.

“Give me a real fight, man on man! We’ll see who takes their last breath,” he says. I’d almost swear I was looking at the real thing.

For a moment, I am. Silver on red eyes stare at me, red light coming off his prosthetic. A playful sneer.

 _“Winner takes all, Jules,”_ I hear in my head. _“My life, or one night.”_

No. Ground yourself, Julian. This is here and now.

“If it’s a fight you want, it’s a—oh.” A stagehand gives me a sword and runs back out of sight. Well, then. “It’s a uh, it’s a fight you’ll get! En garde!”

It isn’t so much a fight as a careful dance, neither of us going for body shots. The actor fades in and out with Lucio’s visage in my head, corrupting and twisting. I hear the clomping of hooves, and horns curl back behind his head.

“Not bad,” I say, swallowing. I’m sweating. “I might just give you a chance…”

Enough is enough. I knock the sword from his hand and he collapses back over the day bed. I approach, each step heavy to make myself seem menacing. I place my boot against his stomach.

“…to speak your last words. Choose them carefully, _Lucio_ ,” I snarl. I’ve lost myself, I know I have. I’m _watching_ as the villainous Dr. Devorak looms over Count Lucio, prepared to take his life.

“Is it money you want, Doctor? Fine things?” he asks me and I wonder if Lucio begged for his life before I took it. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m very generous, you know, and you know I’ve always liked you best! What’s mine is yours!”

“This may surprise you, but some of us don’t kill for the money,” I say. You mercenary bastard. “And we were never friends, Lucio.”

I swing the foil sword near his neck.

“Some of us kill to make up for not doing it sooner.” I stare into his eyes as I bring the tip of the sword down. I never should’ve spared him back then. If I’d known, I would’ve left him to die.

Why didn’t I let him die?

The actor gives a convincing performance of dying as my thoughts turn dark. Lucio was a plague all on his own. Misery followed him.

If I didn’t know any better, if he hadn’t caught it, I would’ve blamed The Red Plague on him somehow.

I step back, staring at the fake dead man as the weight of it all hits me. Was I so cruel? So vicious? Taking his life…

No, that was never something I should have done. I’m a _doctor_. I heal the sick, save the dying. I had no right…

What have I done?

The play is still going. Get it together, Julian. Wash the blood of your conscience later.

“Oh…well. That was…” I swallow. “Easier than I thought it would be.”

I glance at the audience. This isn’t right. No, no. I didn’t…

I thought I was doing the right thing. Wasn’t I? No, no. What I did was take a man’s _life_. A man who deserved it, yes, but…

Why? He was just an awful man. He was just a _man_ , not a monster.

“Uh. Now I…now what? I can’t just go unpunished, I have to pay for this,” I say. I swallow, hard. Celia deserves a better man.

“Guards! Hang him!”

“…But not like that,” I say. I give a dramatic whirl of my coat and dash off stage. Exit stage left.

_“I went to the opening of that new play last night,” says the girl with flowers in her hat. That hat sits on my desk right now, her thick, brown hair tied into a tight braid. Fishtail, she calls it._

_“Is that so?” I ask, examining my notes from a few days prior. “Did you enjoy it?”_

_“It was fantastic,” she says. A rose lands on my notes. “I meant to give this to the dashing rogue last night.”_

_My face reddens as I stare down at the flower. And here I thought I would be unrecognizable. I pick the flower up, pricking my finger on a thorn as I do._

_“You were quite charming, Ilya,” she says. “And so brave to get up there in front of everyone.”_

_“Heh, if you think so,” I say, turning to look at her. She’s already at the door. “Thank you.”_

_“Tell me next time, okay?” she says. “I think I’ve found a reason to go to the theater more often.”_

I make my way outside, ignoring my headache. Celia isn’t far, looking… Shaken. Did she watch the performance?

“Celia, there you are. What a trip!” I exclaim, panting and trying to hide my unease. “I’m still one foot in the meta-realm.”

I stumble over to her and lean on the wall.

“Well, no one seemed to think it was really me,” I say. “Was the neighborhood always this skeptical? Probably…”

I look at her face and my grin falls. Oh, Celia… _Celia_.

“So that wasn’t what I had in mind. Let me try this again.” I take both of her hands and stare into her eye. “Celia. I’d like to head over to the Raven for a bite to eat. If you’d be so forgiving as to join me? My treat, of course. And after that…”

I force a smile.

“A…nice walk down to the docks. How does that sound?” I ask. Please don’t inquire, please don’t notice. _Everything is fine._


End file.
